


the sound of the unlocking and the lift away

by deerie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Magic, Mild Gore, Multi, Season 3, Spark!Stiles, alpha pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerie/pseuds/deerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is newly sixteen. He tries to remember what it was like to be eleven and wonders if he ever had something as exciting as a magical boarding school looming in his future. <i>Nope</i>, he thinks, <i>nothing exciting ever happens to me</i>.</p><p>Or, the one where Stiles is related to Luna Lovegood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sound of the unlocking and the lift away

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long month, but it's finally here! I could not have written this without the help of [Loren](http://cielablew.tumblr.com) and [Nikki](http://honeybearbee.tumblr.com), who read this ol' thing _multiple_ times and basically whipped it into shape for me. Thank you, I really couldn't have written this without you.
> 
> This story started out as a teeny tiny little fic and somewhere along the way developed plot and became this behemoth. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

_“You need to be the spark.”_

*

She isn’t his real aunt, but his aunt’s daughter. An aunt he’s never even met to match a cousin he’s never met and isn’t that just the brunt of it?

Stiles is nine years old and his mother is never coming back to him. She’s been taken from him by a monster named cancer and he doesn’t want a new relative to fill the void his mother leaves in his life.

She isn’t even his real aunt, but she’s young and has long blond hair and she wears radish-shaped earrings and she tells him to call her _Luna_.

Later, after the funeral ends and the people leave, he hides behind the doorway to the kitchen and listens in while Luna talks to his dad.

He hears her say, “I think the last time I saw you was at my mother’s funeral. A lot has happened between then and now. I know we don’t know each other well, but I was hoping that could change.”

His dad doesn’t say anything at first, wracked with grief for his wife, but he eventually croaks out a rough _why?_

“You’re family,” Luna says kindly and puts her hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “I hear there’s nothing more precious.”

*

“I was beginning to wonder when you would figure it out,” Luna says when Stiles stumbles over her washing the dishes. The dishes are washing themselves, taking direction from Luna’s lilting voice. “How did you think I got from London to California so quickly?”

His dad, parked at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and newspaper, says, “That level of dedication can probably be chalked up to willful obliviousness.”

Stiles shoots a wide eyed stare at his dad. “You knew? Why did no one tell me that Aunt Luna is actually _magic_?”

Luna laughs and it sounds like bells. His dad laughs full-bellied chuckles.

“It’s not like she’s been covert about it, Stiles,” his dad says, before draining his cup. “It’s never been a secret.”

Luna pulls a thin stick out of her pocket and murmurs soft words under her breath. The mug in front of his dad transforms into a rat before Stiles’ eyes.

For once, Stiles is left speechless. He reaches out and the rat crawls onto his hand, whiskers twitching to and fro, and he turns his wide eyes up at Luna. “Tell me everything,” he says.

Because she’s his Aunt Luna and she’s awesome and also apparently _magic_ , she does him one better. “Why tell you when I can show you?”

*

Lorcan and Lysander come to visit Beacon Hills with their mother the summer before they’re due to start at Hogwarts. They’re freshly eleven and have the same shock of blond hair that Luna has. Lysander is sullen and Stiles wonders if he gets that from his father’s side of the family, because it couldn’t have come from Luna. Lorcan is the exact opposite - bright, kind, and full of wonder.

Stiles is newly sixteen. He tries to remember what it was like to be eleven and wonders if he ever had something as exciting as a magical boarding school looming in his future. _Nope_ , he thinks, _nothing exciting ever happens to me_.

Stiles divides his time between Scott and the twins, because Lorcan and Lysander keep accidentally doing magic. One night, Stiles walks into the guest room to tell Lysander to come down for dinner and he finds Lorcan giggling in a corner as his brother levitates high above the bed.

Luna indulges them with a fond sort of smile and says, “Ah, well, it can’t be helped,” but Stiles is sure that she’s thinking the same thing he is - that they’re young and about to go on the biggest adventure of their lives. If a little magic slips through the cracks, well - they’re about to go to school for that anyway.

Luna’s reading an upside-down issue of the Quibbler in their living room when Stiles asks, “How’s Uncle Rolf?”

Stiles has met Rolf a couple of times. He’s a nice fellow - a nearly perfect match for Luna.

“Oh!” Luna says. “I forgot to tell you!”

Stiles waits for Luna to put down her magazine - he’s never going to get used to the pictures moving, he thinks - and she turns to look at him more fully.

“Rolf wanted to come with us this time, but he had an emergency at work. Someone smuggled Runespoors into Diagon Alley and his department is trying to find all of them and the person who did it. It’s quite exciting!”

Luna brought him a book on magical creatures some years ago, but at the moment Stiles couldn’t recall what Runespoors looked like. “Those are the...?”

Luna grins and leans in close. “Runespoors are snakes with three heads. Each head does something different. One is for thinking, one is for dreaming, and one is aggressive. Sometimes, the dreaming head and the thinking head gang up on the aggressive head and bite him off.”

Stiles blinks. “That’s intense. So what’s the deal with them being loose?”

“They grow to be seven feet long and their eggs are highly desirable for potion making.” Luna pauses and cocks her head. “Also, they’re usually only found in Africa, so I’d say they’re a long way from home.”

“Wow,” Stiles says. “That does sound exciting.”

“Everyone and everything deserves to have a home,” Luna says, unexpectedly solemn. “I hope you’ll remember that in the future.”

Stiles nods, even though he’s not sure where this is coming from. He nods and promises he will.

*

Let it never be said that exciting things never happen to Stiles Stilinski. Because - oh man - they totally do. _Werewolves!_ Stiles thinks and then casts a guilty eye toward Scott, who is not taking the news of his bite as well.

Stiles sends Scott home when he thinks his anger isn’t going to boil over and Scott isn’t going to accidentally kill anyone. Not killing people - that’s good. That’s really good.

Scott leaves with a promise to be ready in the morning when Stiles picks him up and Stiles just smiles at him because that is never going to happen, not in a million, billion years.

As soon Scott is gone, Stiles stumbles and nearly falls up the stairs in his haste to get up to his room. He’s never been so glad to not have already written Luna back in his life. That means that the owl who brought her letter over is probably still here. When Stiles sticks his head out of his window, he’s immediately relieved to see that the bird is still perched on the roof of his house. “One second,” he says to the owl and the owl cocks her head like she understands. Weird, but not the weirdest thing on his plate today.

He rummages through his desk and eventually finds a pad of paper and a pen. He scribbles a short message in response to her letter and ends his with what amounts to _I need all the information of werewolves that you have!_

His dad keeps envelopes down in his office, so Stiles scrambled back downstairs to find one.

Once the envelope is firmly in the owl’s grip, Stiles says, “Take this back to Luna, please.”

The owl spreads her wings and soars on the wind.

*

A week or so later, Stiles receives a package from Luna. The owl carrying the large parcel is obviously disgruntled. Stiles gives her a piece of bread. The owl snaps her beak and seems to say _good enough_ and Stiles isn’t comfortable admitting how natural understanding what the owl is saying feels. Out of all the weird things happening - communing with magical owls isn’t even a blip.

He unwraps the package carefully - it’s folded in some stiff brown paper and tied up in twine, bright petals tucked between the folds - and a note slips out and falls to his desk.

Written in Luna’s curly script, it says:

> _Dearest Stiles,_
> 
> _Inside I’ve enclosed a book that I used my third year at Hogwarts - ‘Defense Against the Dark Arts.’ There should be a fair amount of information in the chapter on werewolves, including my own notes._
> 
> _I’ve also included some information I’ve found since my years at Hogwarts. I hope you find some use out of these._
> 
> _I did not expect that you would need this knowledge - I figured you would eventually ask me of wrackspurts or flying pigs - but good luck. I hope this helps._
> 
> _Watch out for nargles,  
>  Luna Scamander_

*

Stiles finds sleep difficult the night after the pool. He keeps drifting into a fitful sleep, only to be jerked awake by the feel of water in his throat. He’s in bed - nowhere near any pool, safe - but those last moments when he was sure they were going slip under the water and drown, well. His brain is nothing if not inventive.

Stiles drifts back down into sleep, only to jerk awake again with a hoarse shout at both the imaginary feeling of choking on lungfuls of water and the sound his window makes as it scrapes open.

His eyes are wide in the dark, panicked, and when he turns his entire body to face the window, he’s oddly calmed by the fact that it’s Derek who’s lurking just inside his room. That’s weird.

Derek’s face is gaunt and Stiles can relate - having your ability to do something as basic as move taken away by kanima poison really sticks with a person, never mind the almost-drowning bit. Derek makes no move to come further into the room, though, so Stiles manages to grind out, “What’s up, dude?”

Derek doesn’t say anything at first. He frowns, but that’s nothing new. He looks oddly small in his body and Stiles realizes with a jerk that Derek looks _vulnerable_.

Vulnerable doesn’t sit well in Stiles’ stomach. He’s seen Derek angry, he’s seen him cocky, but vulnerable? Logically, Stiles knows that Derek has a lot to be vulnerable about, but that doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow. Stiles reaches a hand out, half-mortified like he hasn’t just spent a significant chunk of time holding Derek up in the pool, and is surprised when Derek shuffles closer, lets Stiles grab his elbow. He surprises Stiles by dropping down to his knees by the side of the bed, by tucking two fingers underneath his shirtsleeve.

When he finally speaks, Stiles is also surprised by what comes out of his mouth.

“Why did you do that?”

Stiles chokes on a sound, doesn’t know what to say for one long moment - one long stretch of time that has Derek hunching over into himself and Stiles reaching out with his free arm to cup around the back of Derek’s neck. The fact that he’s allowed to touch, that Derek is tolerating this - that he can press his thumb to the corner of Derek’s jaw is a revelation.

When he tugs, Derek lets Stiles pull him up onto the bed, lets Stiles push his forehead against Derek’s shoulder.

“You were right,” Stiles says, only halfway gutted by the words falling from his mouth, “I need you, you’re right.”

They’re not friends exactly. They’re not always going to be on the same side, Stiles knows, but that doesn’t matter. Derek curls around him, still on top of the covers and shoes on, but he’s still curled around Stiles and that’s what counts in this moment. Stiles has learned how to take comfort where he can. He hopes Derek knows how to do that too.

He sleeps well and when he wakes up, Derek is long gone.

*

Stiles tongues the cut on his bottom lip. The cut is open again, sluggishly bleeding, and his ribs ache, freshly bruised. Who knew Gerard Argent still had enough strength to beat the shit out of him?

Stiles might have a bit of a bruised ego in addition to the physical damage. That’s to be expected, though. Not only did the geriatric psychopath kidnap him from a crowded lacrosse field, but he beat him in front of Derek’s betas as a message - a message to _who_? Nobody came looking for him. No, tonight is all about Jackson - fucking _Jackson_ \- and his miraculous recovery from scaly lizard monster to werewolf.

Of course Jackson has special blue werewolf eyes and of course he gets Lydia. The world bends over backward to accommodate Jackson Whittemore.

Stiles wipes at the tears that have gathered in his eyes and berates himself for being so stupid. In a room full of werewolves and hunters, no one is ever going to look twice at him.

He thinks of Luna and her magical life - just another thing he’s always going to be looking in on, another world he’ll never get to be a part of.

He has to physically shake himself to rid himself of the thought but all that brings him is pain from his fresh injuries. Scott slants a look at him and Stiles thinks he’s trying to ask if he’s okay, but Stiles just waves him off. He says, “I scratched my jeep.”

He’s got to get home. He can’t deal with this right now. He tells himself that his dad is going to be pissed at him for leaving after being “roughed up,” but Stiles can’t even take himself seriously. He’s got to get out of here because his life is slowly imploding and he can’t deal with it.

Stiles scrubs a hand over his face as he turns around. Derek catches his eyes and just stares. Stiles is the one to break first, turning his head to stare down at his shoes. He fiddles with the keys in his pocket. He just wants to leave. He wants to go home and not think about how he’s supposed to be a message.

Seriously - seriously, who was he supposed to be a message for? For Scott? For his dad, who isn’t even involved in any of this supernatural shit? Gerard must seriously have been off his rocker to think that either of them were going to receive whatever message he was trying to send.

It hits him when he looks back up at Derek and Derek isn’t looking him in the eyes anymore, but instead flickering his eyes from his cheek to his chest. The fight whooshes out of him and he just stands there, probably looking as miserable as he feels. _Message received_ , he thinks.

Later, Stiles can’t even feign surprise when Derek shows up in his room. What does surprise him is that Derek sheds his jacket and shoes and climbs in the bed after Stiles. Derek taps his fingers at the edge of the scrape on Stiles’ face, presses white circles into his skin, and leeches some of the pain away.

Derek stays until the sun starts to stream through the window and Stiles doesn’t sleep at all.

*

“Tell me about my mom,” Stiles says one day when Luna is visiting. It’s good she’s here. He needs a break from werewolves and hunters with vendettas and everything his life is at the moment. He still has a healing scrape across his cheek from Gerard Argent. His ribs are still bruised and they ache if he moves the wrong way.

Luna looks up from where she’s digging in the garden. Earlier she told him she was looking for gnomes. She nods carefully and pulls her gloves off before coming to sit next to him.

“She and my mother were very close. Even in their childhood, when my mum got the letter for Hogwarts and she didn’t. It was more difficult to be a squib in those days.”

“A squib is someone who doesn’t have magic?” Stiles asks, hands fidgeting.

“Yes and no. You’re a muggle because your parents aren’t magical.” Luna looks out over the fence and up toward the bright sun. “She was a squib because hers were.”

Stiles wonders if his mother ever felt lonely like he does.

“I remember that my mom used to tell yours that - oh, what was it?” Luna’s chin meets her hand and she looks over at him with an unusually steely gaze. “Drat, I’ve forgotten. I’m sorry, Stiles, maybe it will come to me later. It’s like nargles have stolen it right out of my head.”

Nargles, ha, he hasn’t heard her talk about nargles in months.

Luna laughs quietly. “Listen, Stiles,” she says. “Just because there isn’t any magic in your parents doesn’t mean that there isn’t any magic for you anywhere. Sometimes, if you look deeply enough, you can find light in the darkest of places - a spark, if you will.”

Stiles jostles back from her, eyes wide - hadn’t Deaton told him to be the spark? - and stutters out, “I’ve got to go, I’m sorry, I’ll talk to you later.” He flees back into the house, unsure of why her words spook him as much as they do.

He makes it back to his bedroom and Derek is waiting for him, swinging in his computer chair back and forth.

Stiles’ wide eyes land on him and he asks in a rush, “What do you need?”

Derek is beside him in the next moment - damn werewolf powers, seriously - and he gruffs out, “Are you okay?”

How is Stiles even supposed to explain why he's so panicked when he doesn't even really know himself? His breathing is ragged, like he's been running, and he bites at his thumbnail, eyes wild. Stiles lets himself be led to his bed and Derek asks, seriously, "Who is that woman?"

Stiles steadies his breathing long enough to say, "What, you weren't listening in?" And just like that, the panic attack begins. His stomach feels like it's knotted up and he can't get air in quickly enough. "My aunt," he says, trying to gulp large breaths of air into his lungs. "That's my aunt."

Derek pulls back and stand straighter. He looks around, eyes sharp. "She's gone - it's like she disappeared completely. I can't smell her anymore."

Stiles wipes away the tears that have traitorously formed in his eyes and tries to stop his hands from shaking. "Yeah," Stiles says, "she does that sometimes."

*

Raucous - that’s the only word to describe the pack meeting in full swing. Derek is glowering at the front of the room. Peter is lurking in the back with look on his face that can only be described as smarmy. Erica and Boyd might as well be one person with how close they’re pressed to each other. Isaac sits next to Scott. His hands are pressed underneath his own thighs and he exudes anxiety.

It looks like Lydia actually managed to drag Jackson to the meeting, if the glaring coming from their corner is anything to go by.

There’s a lot of yelling happening.

Stiles is yelling loudly. Stiles would even stoop to say he is arguing _vehemently_ with Scott.

“No, Scott, no! This is the worst. I can’t even - stop.” He flails a hand out in Scott’s face and Scott actually growls at him. “Derek, tell him. Tell him this is the worst plan ever.”

The backup he expects does not come. He can feel Derek staring at the back of his head and he grits his teeth. _Werewolves_ , Stiles silently swears. Stiles spins on a heel to face Derek.

Derek at least has the decency to look chastised. There’s also determination in his eyes, fierce determination that tells Stiles he’s not going to win this fight. “You agree with him,” Stiles states, voice flat.

Derek just says, “It’s a good idea.”

Stiles just deflates, all at once. He knows it’s true. Scott can be flaky sometimes, but when trouble sets in deep he usually pulls a trick out of his hat. Stiles thinks it isn’t fair. He helps - Stiles contributes to the general aliveness and well-being of the werewolves around him. He shouldn’t be pushed to the side when things get rough.

Derek says, “You don’t have to stop being around anyone at school. The alphas are going to smell Scott on you, they’re going to know the two of you are friends. You just have to -” he pauses, clearly struggling to find the words - “you just have to forget about werewolves for a while. Pretend we don’t exist. You and Lydia, both of you.”

A range of things flit through Stiles’ head: _Stop, this isn’t fair_ and _this is bullshit_ and _I couldn’t forget you if I tried_.

Peter laughs when Stiles says, “This isn’t how this works. You can’t shove me to the side and expect me to be okay with it.”

Peter laughs, because Peter is an asshole. Derek just looks at his hands. Stiles rolls his eyes and storms out of the room with an angry huff.

It’s Lydia who finds him later, who grasps his hands and says, “We can stay quiet, Stiles, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be dangerous.”

*

"I've got to give it to them, they’re smart."

Lydia looks up from the book she's reading to glare at Stiles.

"No, hear me out," Stiles says. He goes on to tick points off on his fingers, "They infiltrated the high school, stole Isaac's memories, and are trying to splinter the pack. That's calculated."

"Trying to turn Derek and Scott against each other is obvious," Lydia says, flicking to the next page, "and weak. Unimaginative."

Stiles and Lydia are holed up in Deaton's clinic, poring over ancient tombs Deaton has and the books that Luna sends Stiles nearly every week now.

"I think you've been spending too much time around Peter," Stiles says.

"I think I haven't been spending any time around any werewolves, Stiles, just like you."

That's true. They're laying low like Scott and Derek agreed, staying off of the alphas’ radars. It’s the only thing Scott and Derek can agree on, though. The massive amount of damage control they have to do between them is sort of killing that prerogative, though. Derek keeps saying it's for their safety as humans. Lydia says they'll need a plan B when everything eventually goes to shit.

Stiles sides with Lydia on this one.

Stiles has never been more ecstatic that he's human and therefore easily overlooked. Why even bother with the inconsequential humans when there are strained bonds between werewolves and oh-so-easily caused rifts?

It isn't like they've been idly sitting by, though, not by a long shot. Stiles and Lydia pour through every book at their disposal - books on theory, books on potions, books on herbology, on defense and offense, on the intrinsic value of _magic_. They collaborate together, Stiles and Lydia and Deaton, pool their knowledge and resources.

In the dead of night, they make potions.

Deaton's wand is sturdy, like him, and he is great at potions-making. When Stiles asks him about the vet gig, Deaton only says, "I made a promise to someone long ago and I intend to keep it."

Stiles can respect that.

Between the three of them, they've come up with a lot of information on the power tripping alpha pack - it's a lot of dangerous information to hold and when they split up, they all take different pages so that nothing makes sense unless all the pages are there - and maybe not even then.

"Have you heard anything about the last alpha?" Lydia asks, startling him from where he was apparently doing a very good job of zoning out.

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p'. "The fifth Beatle is still suspiciously missing."

The joke is apparently still only funny to him. That's okay. He can work with that.

It goes quiet for a moment, only to be broken by Stiles. "Who even names their kid Deucalion? How does that ever seem like a good idea?"

"To be fair, Deucalion is supposed to be the equivalent of Noah," Lydia says.

Deucalion's big plan, as far as they can tell, is to bring the flood down on Beacon Hills. Someone’s taking the name thing a little too far.

Stiles fiddles with the strings on his hoodie and then gets serious. "So we've got the head honcho, Deucalion, who wants to break up Derek and Scott. Kali with the -" he scrunches up his face and makes his hands into claws, "- with her feet."

Her feet are kind of serious business. If the shaky pictures Erica sent him are to be believed, she apparently took a chunk out of Derek's arm with her clawed feet.

Lydia pulls the pen out of her mouth and mocks, "Ethan and Aiden are the twins. And in our Chemistry class, how nice."

"Speak for yourself. As long as Harris's focus is on them, it's off me. I've had less detentions since they transferred."

That’s one thing Stiles could thank the alpha pack for - he’s not sure he could do fighting the alphas with detention on top of that. His grades are already starting to suffer a bit - Lydia’s aren’t, of course, because she is somehow superhuman.

Stiles looks down at his watch and sighs. “I think we’ve done all we can for tonight. Let me finish this page and I’ll drop you off at your place. Is Deaton still here?”

Lydia just hums an affirmative under her breath and makes a notation on the page she’s working on.

*

Chemistry could not be dragging any slower. Stiles is beyond done with school. He swings his head around to stare at Lydia, who sits next to him, and emphatically rolls his eyes. Because she's Lydia - and because Stiles has the strong suspicion that she might actually be a mind reader - she automatically gets his train of thought and nods succinctly.

Harris drones on about something Stiles isn't listening to but probably already knows, possibly balancing chemical equations - God, Stiles could not care less. There are more important things to be focusing on, like for instance the fact that the alpha pack has more or less been silent for a couple of days and it's starting to freak him out. Sure, Ethan and Aiden are lounging in their seats but they're playing the role of 'troubled students' very well.

Stiles feels like they're being lulled into something. He doesn't like it.

Lydia's sharp elbow digs into his tender side and he hisses, tuning back into the class sharply. Mr. Harris seems to be calling on him. _Crap_ , Stiles thinks, as Mr. Harris says, "Anytime you'd like to join the class again would be great, Mr. Stilinski. Perhaps you'd like to come balance these equations?"

There are four on the board and Stiles swears under his breath before stumbling to his feet. He ignores the tittering laughter as he makes his way up to the board and he looks at the equations for a moment before filling in the appropriate coefficients and subscripts.

Stiles grins cheekily at Mr. Harris, because he knows he’s balanced them correctly. Lydia looks less embarrassed to know him. Point, Stilinski, even though he knows they’re past all of that. Mr. Harris grumbles under his breath and shortly says, “Good job.”

So Stiles is feeling pretty good about everything - right up until he trips on his bag on the way back into his seat. The stumble sends him flying and the class breaks into outright laughter at his fumble. His bag goes skittering across the aisle and - oh.

Oh, shit. _Shit, shit, shit,_ Stiles thinks as he tries to scramble to his bag, which has landed right at Ethan’s feet. His bag spills open and out slides the copy of _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ that Luna sent him earlier in the year.

Ethan looks at the book and then looks at Stiles. A slow grin crawls its way across his face. Aiden looks over his shoulder and the same expression grows on his face. He says, “Look what we’ve got here.”

Stiles chances one look at Lydia and he can see that she’s trying very hard not to react. She looks terrified though, although Stiles is sure that out of everyone in the classroom only he can tell. He hopes she can get the rest of the pack together before something bad happens.

It could be argued that something bad is already happening.

The room is silent for one long second before everything snaps back into focus and the twins are upon him. Ethan throws Stiles toward the front of the classroom and barely stops himself from snarling. Stiles can only think of how much of a mess this is going to be to explain to everyone at the school. If the alpha pack is trying to stay on the down low, this is certainly not the way to do it.

Stiles hits the wall with a thump and he tries to crab walk out of the way - Harris is yelling now, but at least he seems to be yelling at the twins. Harris lunges for the intercom, but Aiden gets there first and more or less rips the machine out of the wall. “Thanks, teach,” he says, a human snarl lifting up his lip, “but I think we’re good.”

Ethan drags Stiles out of the room with a tight grip to his shoulder. Stiles isn’t going without a fight, thank-you-very-much. He’s struggling, flailing and kicking, and he manages to smack Ethan in the side of his face. It’s not Stiles’ finest moment and it doesn’t have the best result because Ethan pauses just long enough to draw his fist back and punch Stiles in the face.

Holy mother of _God_ , it hurts. Compared to all the times Derek has been physically aggressive with him - no. Derek’s intimidation techniques seem positively kittenish compared to what Ethan just did. Of course, Stiles is pretty sure Derek never meant to actively harm him.

Tears spring up in the corners of Stiles’ eyes and he thinks that is it. Now or never.

Ethan resumes dragging Stiles out of the school with Aiden following close behind - and how they haven’t managed to attract a crowd, Stiles will never know - and Stiles just goes for it. He trips on purpose this time, uses the distraction to dig in his pocket and pulls out a vial that both he and Lydia have been keeping on their person just for situations like this.

Stiles uncorks the wolfsbane potion and swallows the contents before Aiden and Ethan even realize what’s happening.

Aiden’s eyes flash red and Stiles barely gets the time to register that they’re in the parking lot before he feels the rough grit of asphalt scraping its way into his skin. Ethan is actively growling now and Aiden goes to his knees, hand catching around Stiles’ throat as he snarls, “What the fuck was that? What did you just drink?”

Stiles just laughs and says, “Why don’t you bite me and find out?”

Stiles knows the risk is too great for either of them to bite him. They know it too. Aiden looks back at Ethan before he looks back down at Stiles. His grip around Stiles’ throat tightens sharply and Stiles’ hands come up to scrabble uselessly at him. His vision starts to spot and he starts to gasp for breath like he can actually pull air into his screaming lungs.

The last thing he hears before he slips out is, “I’m really enjoying this, Stiles.”

*

Derek bursts into the warehouse already wolfed out, snarl already in place. His betas, Scott, and surprisingly - or maybe not as surprising as Stiles would like to believe - Jackson fan out behind him. Stiles wonders briefly where Peter is, but doesn’t linger too long on it. He has bigger things to think about. Like the fact that he might be bleeding out on the floor of this dirty warehouse.

The gash on his stomach is deep, but he doesn’t think the alpha who injured him hit anything major because he’s bleeding out slowly. He’s not sure who gouged him. Everything’s a bit fuzzy. He’s pretty sure the only reason the alpha didn’t bite him is because of the potion, the bluff of poison that would do no more than subdue them, and - _oh God_ , Stiles thinks, _is this what dying feels like?_

He can hear the sounds of fighting around him and he hazards a look up from where he’s curled up in his own blood. He can see Scott and Jackson fighting against Kali. She’s wicked with her clawed feet, looks feral with blood dripping down her face. He thinks they’ve managed to get some good hits on her, but she doesn’t even look winded, really. She looks joyous, like the fight is all she needs.

Stiles turns his head to the side and he watches as Erica pounces on Ethan, hair flying and claws slicing. Aiden lands a punch on Isaac, cracks his head back, and Boyd growls loudly before he sends Aiden flying.

Derek is - what is Derek doing? Stiles is sure that he must be hallucinating, because Derek is still shifting. His bones are cracking, shifting, and an inhuman roar pushes its way out of his throat.

He’s a wolf before Stiles can even blink. Stiles manages to huff out a stilted laugh before he starts to cough wetly. Derek lunges into the fight, going for one of the twins and rips his throat out with one giant swipe of a claw before he can even react.

A wail rips itself out of Aiden. He lunges for Derek, but gets the three betas instead. Aiden is hysterical in grief and goes down easier than he should have. Derek delivers the fatal blow.

The light catches on Derek’s great maw, lips pulled back in a vicious snarl, and it glints red.

Stiles keeps coughing and he doesn’t know why he can’t stop. He’s putting pressure on the wound on his stomach, hands squelching wetly in his own blood and he can feel it oozing between his fingers. He hears someone growling lowly over him and oh, when did Peter get here? He’s pretty sure Peter’s on their side, at least for now, so he tries to reach out with one red hand, but he can’t figure out why Peter is growling at him.

Or, oh - maybe Peter isn’t growling at him. Maybe he’s growling at the werewolf Stiles can’t see, but can hear; the low chuckle that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up and makes Stiles scrabble forward, slipping in his own slick blood. He definitely should not be moving, but he can’t stay here either. Peter crouches low enough above him that Stiles can grab his jacket and he wants to laugh at the total reversal of their intentions since the last time they were in this position, the last time with Lydia unconscious between them.

Stiles focuses on the fact that he’s smearing blood on Peter’s leather jacket, not that he’s slowly bleeding and soon there will be nothing left to lose. He can hear Kali taking on Derek and the other werewolves, the sharp sounds of fighting, and he hears Peter still rumbling threateningly. Stiles tries to forget that Deucalion is standing at his back, that he is at his weakest, that there is no way he’s getting out of this alive.

His dad will be alone. Derek will lose another person.

Stiles digs deep, tries to fight off the darkness creeping in the edges of his vision. He can’t give up now. There isn’t any time for this.

Deucalion talks to the room at large. If Stiles was more lucid, he would call it monologuing. Deucalion explains all the things to the werewolves that Stiles can’t.

“It seems your illustrious human drank a potion when Ethan and Aiden snatched him up from the school! I’ll admit, I’m surprised you keep a pet, we didn’t even know.” He laughs sharply. “If he’s to be believed, apparently we can’t bite him unless we want to risk grievous harm.”

Derek is too gone to reply, but his snarls echo around the warehouse.

“This puts a slight kink in my plan, but it seems that I have you all here already. I suppose I can move up the schedule a bit. Kali,” he bites out and she’s out of the fight in a mere moment. “We need Ennis.”

Her grin is fierce. One bounding leap and she’s gone, vanishing deep into the warehouse.

Nearly all of the focus in the room is on Deucalion now. He grins, fangs flashing. “You’ve been doing abysmally as an alpha,” he says to Derek. “I’d almost be impressed by this display, but not nearly enough. Too little, too late, as they say. I’m going to take your power, Hale. I’m going to take your power and then I’m going to break your pack, like I’ve broken your human. It’s going to be delicious.”

Peter leans down and he’s wrapping his arms around Stiles to pull him to relative safety when Deucalion looks down. “Nice try,” he says, and aims a vicious kick to Stiles’ side.

Stiles might scream - he doesn’t know, it hurts so badly, he can’t think. He digs deep and finds that slight light inside. He might mumble, “Luna.”

He’s so tired of being unconscious, but everything goes bright white and then black and he’s out.

*

Stiles goes limp just as a swell of bright light bursts from his body. Three things happen in quick succession: Deucalion seems momentarily surprised, takes a step back; Peter finally pulls Stiles to safety; a horrible sound wells up from the back end of the warehouse, steadily moving closer and closer.

Derek lumbers to the middle of the room, ears flicking toward the new sound, the hideous rising wail and snarl. His betas fall in line behind him. Peter places Stiles closer to the exit, with the wolves shielding him from the threat, and then falls into place behind Derek.

“I’d like to introduce you all to our pet. I fear he’s not human like yours, but no matter!” Something - someone - howls and the sound of metal wrenching out of place can clearly be heard. Deucalion steps back like he’s about to make a quick getaway. “I’d love to stay for this part, but -”

Something whooshes past Derek’s head and embeds itself into Deucalion’s shoulder and the wall. Of course it’s an arrow - “Oh, you didn’t think we’d let you guys have all the fun?”

Allison and Lydia stand at the mouth of the warehouse, illuminated by the lights of several large SUVs. Allison’s cross bow is still pointed in Deucalion’s direction. Lydia pastes a smile on her face and takes one step into the room, says to Deucalion, “Your first mistake was assuming you only had to worry about the werewolves.”

Chris Argent and a few hunters spill out of the SUVs, along with Deaton and Ms. Morrell. Chris hefts a gun over his shoulder and saunters into the warehouse. He nods at Derek’s hulking wolf form. “I think we can help you out this one time.”

Any pretense of calm shatters and Deucalion becomes an unholy thing - his great clawed hand comes up to rip the arrow out of his shoulder, ignoring the sizzle of the wolfsbane laced arrow. He looks worse than Peter did in full alpha form. He’s big, too, and his roar shakes the loose wall behind him. The howling bellows from the back of the warehouse and all too soon, the monster is in the light.

The last alpha pants in full wolf form, spittle slinging from his mouth. His eyes are bright red, but there’s something wrong with him. His great head oscillates back and forth, wild, and his eyes aren’t tracking correctly.

There’s a brief moment when everyone realizes the same thing: the alpha is feral.

Ennis opens his mouth wide and howls. The room bursts into movement.

The hunters go after Ennis while the betas circle Kali. Derek faces off against Deucalion.

Lydia silently makes her way over to Stiles and she muffles a sob into her arm. His stomach is torn open. “I’m so sorry, Stiles,” she whispers.

She leans in to touch the side of his body that isn’t harmed when suddenly, silently, a figure materializes in front of her. Lydia’s only seen a picture of her once, but there’s no mistaking her - this is Stiles’ Aunt Luna. Luna presses a finger to her own lips and Lydia nods once.

Luna pats over Stiles’ injuries, frowns at the gaping stomach wound, and pulls a vial out of the small satchel at her hip. She pours the viscous purple paste onto the wound and spreads it with her fingertips, murmuring words Lydia can’t make out over the sounds of fighting happening around them. The wound sizzles and Stiles whimpers although he’s completely out. Lydia swipes her hand over Stiles’ forehead, hoping to sooth him. She’s not really good at the whole nursemaid thing and anyway, there really is a battle happening around them.

A flash bomb goes off in the direction of Ennis and the hunters and the noise the wolf expels is nothing short of horrifying as he’s blinded. Lydia looks up just in time to see Chris Argent behead the beast and miss Luna carefully pressing another ointment onto Stiles’ stomach. By the time she looks back down, the gash on Stiles’ stomach knits back up, skin unblemished.

Lydia catches Luna’s eye, but it’s Luna who asks, “Did he take the wolfsbane potion?”

Lydia nods. “We carried vials on us for times like these. Stiles hasn’t been bitten, so it fooled them well enough.”

Luna grins, bright and quick, before she pulls out her wand and murmurs a spell under her breath. With a sharp cough, Stiles wakes up and curls to his side, hands going down to inspect the newly healed skin. He croaks out, “What?”

Luna and Lydia help him up, one at each shoulder. “There’s no time for that, Stiles. Your wolves need you.”

Deucalion and Derek rip into each other.

Stiles stands carefully, pushes away from Luna and Lydia, and says, “I get it now, Aunt Luna. What you were saying about home. I get it.”

He stumbles forward into the fray, past where the hunters are helping his friends against Kali, close to Derek and Deucalion. His movements are jerky and Luna turns to Lydia. “Make sure he comes back after he’s finished what he needs to do.”

Lydia has no time to ask what she means, because Luna pulls her wand out and shouts, “Stupefy!” Kali stops short and that’s long enough for a hunter to take her out.

Lydia looks on as Stiles stops and cocks his head at Derek, stiltedly says, “Move.”

Derek snarls, looks confused, and is tossed back as Stiles extends a hand. He lands with a pained whimper several feet away and Lydia snaps her head back to look at Stiles.

In her momentary distraction, Deucalion has been forced back into his human shape and Stiles presses up against his back. Deucalion isn't moving - can't? - but his eyes jerk wildly back and forth. His mouth moves but Lydia isn't close enough to hear if he's saying anything. She watches as Stiles leans in and murmurs something in his ear, sees his mouth move around syllables, but she can't decipher the words.

Stiles presses his hand to the back of Deucalion's head, cups it almost tenderly, but there's something sharp in Stiles' eyes, something Lydia has never seen from him before. A jerk shudders and shivers its way though Stiles' body. He convulses and opens his mouth wide and Lydia can't believe what she's seeing - a white light, up and out of his throat. The ball of light pulses eerily and Lydia feels a little bit sick to her stomach.

Stiles closes his mouth, smiles and swallows. He closes his eyes and tips his head so his temple presses to Deucalion's. It's almost like he's soothing a child. Lydia almost misses it when it happens.

Stiles lets go of Deucalion and Deucalion whips around quickly. His eyes are wild, but before he can do anything he lets out a terrible scream. The bright light wells up in his body and he screams again as his body seems to explode from the inside out, light spilling from his mouth and eyes.

By the time the light dims out, he's just a burnt out body on the floor.

Stiles slumps to the ground and for one moment, Lydia thinks he’s gone.

 _He’s just a boy,_ Lydia’s mind supplies.

Jackson steps up next to her and Lydia can just make out the side of his jaw, covered in fur, and the jut of his teeth, too big for his mouth.

Luna’s words from earlier snap herself out of a sob and she wrenches out, “Derek!” and stresses the words, “Get Stiles!”

Derek jumps forward almost immediately, shaking off his fur and pressing human hands to Stiles’ face. It seems to break Stiles out of his trance and starts to shake, but says, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Stiles leans forward to chase the taste of home from Derek’s lips.

*

“So,” Luna says later, eyeing the group in front of her, “these are your werewolves.”

Stiles nods minutely, but Scott gapes. “How did you know to come?”

Luna just smiles and she looks all of eighteen, not her thirty-one years. There’s a sparkle in her eye when she turns back and looks at Stiles. She looks proud of him. “Alan Deaton got in touch with me. He seemed to think you’d need my help. I’m glad I got here when I did.”

The werewolves are still nervous, pacing back and forth, but she disregards them. Stiles knows they don’t register high - if at all - as a danger to her. She’s faced worse. Everything else is child’s play.

“I knew a werewolf once,” she says, apropos. “He was a great man.” She closes her eyes briefly and Stiles thinks he sees her flinch but he might have imagined the tiny movement. He wonders if her memories are painful.

Luna puts her hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Sometimes we lose things, but they always come back to us. They’re very good about that.”

Stiles brings his hand up to cover hers. He pants, exhausted from the night, and a grin works its way onto his face. Luna mirrors it before she pulls him into a hug. She whispers into his ear, though they both know that the werewolves can hear her, “I’m glad you’ve found a family.”

Luna pulls away from Stiles and he can’t help but reach for her. She shakes her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll visit soon.”

She turns to walk away from the group and pulls out her wand. In the next moment, she’s gone.

Stiles turns back to face his friends, who are slowly shifting back to human. He grins. _Be the spark_ , he thinks and, _okay, I can do that_.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](http://deerie.tumblr.com). I panic about fic a lot. :)


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